


Pregnant Pauses

by outwhore



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Art, Break Up, Family Feels, Fanfiction, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Makeup, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outwhore/pseuds/outwhore
Summary: A few moments highlighted from a mostly special time. A weird time, but a special one.





	Pregnant Pauses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dirty_diana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_diana/gifts).



> Hi dirty_diana! I hope you enjoy this work as much as I enjoyed drawing it. That sounds cliche, but it's true. This is my first time posting fan art, so I know it's not the best, but I had a blast with your prompts coming up with it. I look at some these doodles and they make me laugh, because some of them look like a sloshed _New Yorker_ cartoonist attempting a slash comic.
> 
> These were the parts of your letter I especially tried to work with here:
> 
>   * found families, friendships... breakups, makeups, and relationships which are a lot of work but are worth it!
>   * Mon-El being like, you mean males don't usually get pregnant on this planet?
>   * Winn has a tiny alien kink and I bet he'd be pretty excited to be carrying an alien baby? Less excited if Mon-El failed to warn him it was a possibility
> 


**It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like… that???**

It began, as these things sometimes do, with a couple of drinks and a few hasty decisions. For Winn Schott, his job as a technician at the D.E.O. was _almost_ as stressful as working I.T. at CatCo. Long days at work sometimes led to lots of drinks at the bar afterwards with friends, especially those from other planets. 

Mon-El, particularly, thought it was funny how humans acted when they were drunk.

Winn was already a few drinks in while he tried to explain to Mon-El what it felt like to get that way. “It’s, like, whatever you’re feeling before you start drinking,” he said, “it gets amplified, or it goes away. So you can sometimes be a sad drunk, or a mad drunk, but I like to think I am mostly a…” Winn gestured widely, and knocked over an innocent bowl of nuts that had been sitting on the bar. “Mostly a sloppy drunk,” he concluded.

“What other kinds of drunks are there?” Mon-El asked, knowing full well from his time on Earth. But he wanted to hear Winn go on.

“Singing drunks, patriotic drunks,” Winn continued. “Debate drunks, lovey-dovey drunks…”

“Stop right there,” Mon-El interrupted. “What’s a lovey-dovey drunk?”

“It’s like,” said Winn, “it’s like…” Winn’s words failed, but the alcohol enabled in him to act in a way he never would have considered otherwise. He placed his hand flirtatiously on Mon-El’s. He leaned forward. He teased his friend playfully, drawing his lips close.

Winn did not expect Mon-El to lean in too, to press his lips against his, but things only escalated from there.

**Apparently on Daxon, it can be the birds and the birds.**

For weeks, Winn found himself dependent on Alka-Seltzer to deal with aches and soreness and also with a constantly upset stomach. 

“I hope it’s not contagious,” Mon-El joked in the mornings, when they were lying side by side in a warm bed, twisted up together in the sheets.

“It’s probably just a virus,” Winn would reply. “It’ll run its course and be out of my system soon.” But as the days wore on, he became less and less certain that that was the cause, and more and more concerned that something was really wrong.

“I hope I didn’t get you pregnant,” Mon-El remarked one day, as they were making breakfast together.  
At first, Winn thought he was joking. 

Mon-El wasn’t. “On Daxon, it’s not normally how things go, just like here on Earth, but it’s not impossible. It’s a byproduct of centuries of experimental breeding programs and cross-species integration. I’ve seen some of your culture’s movies,” he said. “Are you telling me those were fiction?”

“Science fiction, really,” said Winn, still somewhat taken aback that Mon-El’s understanding of human biology had been influenced by Hollywood, and then realizing that was probably also true of, well, most humans as well.

“Seems more like science reality,” Mon-El remarked. “But anyway, I’m glad to hear it’s not possible. The last thing I want in my life right now is a baby.”

When Winn went into work that morning, he went right past his desk and made a beeline straight for the D.E.O. medical facilities team.

“I hate to ask for this,” he told them, “but can you give me a pregnancy test?”

**Maternity leave never starts soon enough.**

Winn Schott was experiencing a lot of firsts lately. The first positive pregnancy test (they made him take several, to be sure), the first kick, the first ultrasound. The first guy to ever ask for maternity leave at a federal agency. 

He was also feeling his first heartbreak. He’d known Mon-El would be upset, but he hadn’t expected such angry outbursts and arguments when Winn told him about the pregnancy.

“Winn, you just told me that Earth men don’t do this,” Mon-El said. “You are putting yourself at risk -- and for what? Science? Don’t let the D.E.O. pressure you into being their guinea pig.”

But they weren’t -- in fact, they had been just as discouraging as Mon-El, if not more. They thought he was crazy for wanting to continue the pregnancy. They had no idea what to expect when Winn was expecting, and they made it clear that while they would help as much as they could, they might not be able to bring a pregnancy safely to term, either for Winn or the fetus growing inside him.

But how could Winn explain it in words? How could he make them all understand that, for the first time, he felt like family was a real possibility? 

“I’m doing it,” Winn said firmly. “And that’s that.”

“Well,” said Mon-El, “I’m not going to hang around and watch you… watch you…” Mon-El couldn’t put his greatest fears into words, and left. Winn hadn’t seen him since.

At least the D.E.O. had approved his request for a more ergonomic office chair. Winn's back was killing him.

**Kara looks forward to being an auntie.**

When Kara Danvers came into D.E.O. headquarters as Supergirl, she was all business all the time. There were people to save, villains to catch, evil plans to prevent. She rarely came in just as Kara, but when she did, she made time for her friends.

Winn was studiously working on something at his computer when Kara came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey Winn!” she said brightly. “I never see you outside of work anymore.”

Winn turned, and smiled, and then struggled to get up out of his chair. Kara tried to signal to him to continue sitting if that was more comfortable for him, but after some struggling, he was on his feet. “The D.E.O. is afraid that a pregnant man will raise some security issues for the agency,” he explained.

“Moreso than Supergirl?” Kara asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or any one of the other aliens or metahumans that come and go from here every day?”

Winn shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t really mind it,” he said. “They’ve got me a nice set up, and it’s good to know I’m close to medical help all the time. None of us really know what to expect anymore, except Mon-El, and, well…” His voice hitched for a moment, and he began to stumble over his own words.

“I know,” Kara said. “You don’t have to get into it all over again. Can I give you a hug?”

“ _Can_ you give me a hug?” Winn asked. “Genuinely asking. I don’t know if it’s physically possible. I feel like a balloon.”

“Enhanced with power from the yellow sun, I think I can manage it,” Kara said, smiling, as she wrapped her arms around Winn’s neck and stood on her tiptoes, trying not to squeeze his stomach and make him uncomfortable. “I know you’ve gotten a lot of pushback and criticism for going through with this,” Kara said, “but I want you to know that I am so happy for you, and so proud of you too. I hope you’ll let me be a part of your family. I know it’s not ideal without Mon-El, but I hope you’ll let all of us be family for you and the baby.”

Winn bit his lip to keep it from quavering.

“Also, if it’s a girl,” she added, “ _Kara_ is a pretty good name. Just saying.”

**Sometimes you have to break up to make up.**

Labor didn’t come on suddenly for Winn. It happened in bits and pieces, gradually. His back began aching more. His abdominal muscles seized and cramped up, and released again. He tried to get some work done, but he found that staying on his feet and walking around made him much more comfortable. When he went to the D.E.O. medical facilities for his daily check-up, they told him they were going to keep him there, and gave him a gown to change into. Once he had changed, they had him try to relax in bed, and hooked him up to a monitor.

The plan was to continue with a C-section -- it seemed the only viable option -- but first they needed to make sure the fetus wasn’t in distress.

“Try to take a nap,” one of the orderlies suggested. “In my experience, it’s a lot easier to sleep _without_ a newborn around. It’s just a matter of time now.”

With a few painkillers in his system now, Winn laid his head back and dozed on and off for an hour or two. When he woke up, he found he wasn’t alone.

“Mon-El,” he said. There he was, his ex, the father of his child, hovering at the end of the bed. “What are you doing here?”

“I can go if you want me to,” Mon-El said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’d be right to be angry.”

“Are you still angry?” Winn asked.

“I never really was,” Mon-El confessed. “I was afraid -- afraid to lose you because of something I did, afraid of what it means to make a family in a foreign place…”

“Listen, Mon,” Winn said, shifting in his bed as his muscles cramped with some discomfort. “You don’t have to be my family -- I have one already. It’s Kara, it’s everyone at the D.E.O., and some of the people at CatCo, too. This baby, too, I hope. We don’t _need_ you,” he said.

Mon-El crossed his arms and turned his eyes to the ground, looking ashamed.

“This is your get-out-of-jail-free card,” Winn said.

“I don’t know what that means,” Mon-El replied.

“It means,” said Winn, “that you don’t have to be here out of some sense of responsibility, or guilt, or obligation. If you stay, it has to be because you want to be here, and you want to be part of a family.”

“While I was gone,” Mon-El said, “and I didn’t have you, I realized it was worse without you in the best circumstances, than it was to be with you in the most difficult circumstances.”

“So you’re staying?” asked Winn.

“If you’ll have me,” said Mon-El. “If you’ll both...” Mon-El paused for a second, and peered out of the glass walls surrounding the D.E.O. medical facilities. All around were people patiently waiting, Winn’s coworkers and friends front and center. “If you’ll _all_ have me.”

“Mr. Schott,” said an orderly, coming into the room. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s time.”

Winn smiled at Mon-El. “See you when we get back.”


End file.
